I recently found out that the
company I used to work for is officially going belly up next
week. Which sucks. There are some great people still working
for ACME, who will soon be plunged into the rockin' party that
is unemployment.

I quit ACME back when the days
were long and it was hot and sunny and I thought I'd find a new
job within a couple months. Ahem. But I haven't regretted that
decision, despite the long arid jobsearch. I quit for a number
of reasons: my cool boss was laid off, the company wasn't paying
the vendors I had used, the remaining management team had the
intellect of flatworms, etc. But mostly I just wanted to leave
on my own terms. I was laid off from a previous job, and I know
how crappy it feels. No matter how much you tell yourself it
wasn't because of your value, you keep thinking stuff like "b-but
they kept that fartknocker Billy!"

So now ACME will be no more,
and I'm sorry about that. It would have been nice if the company
had pulled through. No hard feelings, ACME.

Except for you VP types. You
all have a Whack-a-Mole game where your brain stems should be.

I always read the Pet Lady's column in the Seattle Weekly.
She would like you to picture her as a slightly tiddly, snarky,
good humored version of Miss Manners, a visage I am happy to
indulge. So I am planning to write her about my cat. WITH a picture.
Becase it would be so terribly marvy if it were published! I
would clip out the column and carry it around with me, thrusting
it upon strangers with my ink-stained fingers. "See? See!?"
I would shout, grasping their shoulders, flecks of spit foam
flying from my lips. "Do you see?!"

Well, or not. But anyway, I
am going to write her something like:

Dear Pet
Lady,

Please
bestow upon me some of your sage advice. For you see, I have
troubles, O Pet Lady, with my cat.

Cat, who
has a name, but is mostly referred to as Cat, has an affection-related
peculiarity. When reclining upon the Sundry divan, Cat is wont
to leap up and occupy an adjacent cushion. This would lead one
to assume Cat is in need of attention. But when one strokes Cat,
one often receives a baleful stare, as if one were covered in
oozing sores, and occasionally Cat will deliver a loud HUFF!
accompanied by a claw-laden swipe. Cat will also make sounds
such as ErrrrRRRRRRrrrrr and MRT! to convey severe annoyance.

However,
whenever one rises to walk about the Sundry household, Cat will
leap from wherever Cat was relaxing, in order to rush to the
food bowl, whereupon loud yowls emanate from Cat. The only consolation
is what amounts to a healthy Cat Massage, petting and stroking
and generating massive amounts of floating Cat Fur, whilst Cat
enjoys a brisk snack.

Make no
mistake, Pet Lady, for I am not filling the Cat bowl, merely
accompanying Cat while a few kibbles are masticated. Because,
sadly, Cat is wee bit portly, in the resplendent manner of a
manatee.

The question
that tears at my soul is - why does Cat demand physical attention
at the very moment that her ancestoral instincts should be telling
her to eschew another creature's proximity? Why not accept the
loving pat on the divan, instead of delivering yet another unsightly
hand scratch?

And seriously,
is Cat eligible for Guinness or anything? She gets that low-calorie
crap, I swear to GOD.